Deducing the Holmes Boys
by JassyIsSherlocked
Summary: Guilty. That word is always used in connection with Ivy McClair's family. When she's put into the care of the Moriarty's, she's given a new start. What could go wrong? Enter Sherlock Holmes, considered one of the rudest boys in the school, and her new best friend. Romance blossoms in strange places, and confusion follows. Life is good. But nothing gold can stay, and Ivy knows that.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, so my friend and I decided to write a teenlock fanfiction and I'm posting it on my account because she doesn't have one. :'D **

**This chapter was written by her and not me and I'm sure you can all tell because she has more writing skills than I do. :p**

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><p><strong><em>Prologue<em>**

_"I find you, Angela Mcclair, and you John Mcclair, guilty of the murders of Sam Kennedy, Elouise Sanderson, Rachel Gibbs and Paul Carrick. I herby sentence you both to life imprisonment. Case dismissed," the judge had said banging his gabble on the desk._

_Bile had risen to the back of my throat as my stomach churned and my head pounded._

_"No! Please no! You have it wrong! Just look at the facts!" I'd shouted as they were pulled out of the room separately by police men._

_My desperate plea was unheard through the loud clamour of voices, by all except two, my parents._

_Their eyes had locked onto me in shock. I shouldn't have even been there, but how could I not have been? It was only too easy to slip out of the second storey window of my temporary accommodation and catch the tube to the court, where I disguised myself as a member of the press and slipped in._

_'Ivy...' My mother had mouthed silently._

_She froze after that, not doing anything except staring at me. _

_A door was opened, and she was pulled through it. Her gaze not faltering for a moment._

_"No..." I whispered silently as they disappeared from sight._

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><p>"Ivy?" The voice of my social worker snaps me out of my reminiscing.<p>

"Yes?"

"Look out of the window," I obediently look up to see a massive Georgian house standing in the middle of a field.

It has approximately one hundred windows, twenty of which belong to staff quarters.

The house isn't divided into apartments, judging by the topiary which is incredibly ostentatious and not at all universal, indicating personal taste. Then there's the garage to the east, which is too small to hold the number of cars there would be if it were a shared accommodation.

So, in short whoever lives here is incredibly rich.

I resist the urge to say this aloud, my parents disapproved of me saying these things. Apparently it offends people, these people clearly have an issue with the obvious just because they don't observe it.

Still, it's what they want, so I should keep quiet and pretend to be normal. I guess it's just easier to blend in, after all, what's special about noticing the obvious? What's special about me? Nothing, is the short answer.

"That's your new home," Home? This isn't home, this is anything but home. Where's the battered old swing set in the garden? Where's the barbecue? Where's the home made curtains?

This isn't a home, it's a show home.

The sound of tyres on gravel fills my ears as we pull up.

"Isn't it usually customary for someone to meet their foster parents before they go to live with them?" I state. The social worker sighs as she unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to face me.

"Sweetheart, because of your parents people weren't exactly willing to take you in. And this family were... Keen, to say the least." Great, I'm some kind of publicity stunt.

I gaze at the house again, it probably belongs to a mayor or MP.

A tall woman in her fifties emerges from the house, followed by a small, fat, bald man.

She clearly married him for his money. By the looks of it, family money because of his expensive dress sense. I inwardly groan as I open the car door and inelegantly fall out. Oh the joys of making first impressions.

I stand up and brush the white chalk dust from my knees.

"Oh goodness, are you alright dear?" The woman asks, rushing over to me.

"I'm fine thank you," I say curtly, clenching my fists slightly.

"I'm Eleanor, and that old fart over there is Henry," she says enthusiastically.

"Nice to meet you," he says in a bored tone.

"Henry! Show some manners!"

"How do you do?" I ask, shaking his hand.

"I'm very well thank you," he says letting go. He wanders over to the social worker and shakes her hand, speaking in hushed tones. Well, they certainly have an unhappy marriage.

I turn to Eleanor and offer her my hand as well.

"I'm Ivy, it's lovely to meet you." She dismisses my hand and hugs me warmly. I hug her back lightly.

She obviously has a son judging by the red sports car outside the garage that's being cleaned by a chauffeur. She wanted to have a daughter, but got stuck with a son, hence her sudden affection towards me. The fact she hasn't tried to have another child suggests IVF and a high level of infertility.

She pulls away and smiles, keeping both of her hands on my arms. I smile back awkwardly.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry to hear about your parents. You must be heartbroken... Still! Don't worry, Henry and I will drive you to visit them whenever you like. And in the meantime I'm sure we'll all get along like a house on fire. We've enrolled you into the local school, which you'll start on Monday. Oh! Don't look frightened dear, James will be with you- Oh goodness! You haven't met James yet have you? One minute dear," She runs into the house, shouting for James her teenage son who's around my age I presume.

She emerges with a tall, dark haired boy who has a cheerful smile painted on his face.

"Ivy, this is my son James. James, this is Ivy,"

"Jim," he says with emphasis, scowling at his mother.

We shake hands briefly, keeping eye contact.

"Well, if you'll excuse me for a minute I'm just going to go and have a quick chat with the social worker. Won't be a minute dear!" She says skipping away.

"So... How old are you?" He asks, breaking the silence I return my gaze to him and smile falsely.

"Sixteen... You're seventeen, right?" He nods.

"As of next week," I look back towards my new foster parents who seem to be engrossed in a conversation with the social worker.

I sigh tearing my gaze away and go round to the boot of the car, grabbing my suitcases. Jim's hands grab the handles and push mine away.

"Here, let me," Blimey. He's keen to make a good impression. Still, I'm not complaining, it's nice to have someone my age be nice to me and not 'beat me up' as they so eloquently put it.

"Thanks," I follow him into the house with my overnight bag slung over my shoulder which is full of all my books, so is consequently really heavy.

"So, you're parents are murderers then?" He asks as he sets the cases down in the hall. I slide my overnight bag off my shoulder and dump it on the marble floor next to my cases.

"They were wrongly convicted," I whisper.

"Oh, I believe you." He says. I snap my head up and study his expression.

"Really?" He smiles warmly at me.

"Yeah! Of course I do! I mean, judging by the article they've completely overlooked some of the facts," I smile at him in shock.

"Nobody else seems to think that. I had loads of problems with everyone at school when they found out..."

"Well, I believe you. So that's something," I smile again.

"Yeah, I suppose it is," He strokes my arm lightly, making my hairs stand on end. His hand drops and I shrug it off as Eleanor and her husband come through the door and close it.

"Where's Sally?" I ask, referring to the social worker.

The sound of a car driving away comes in answer.

"She had to go and finish some paperwork. She said she hopes you settle in well, and that if you have any problems to just call," Henry mutters. I nod and look at the floor sadly, screw social services.

"Right! Now, let me show you your new room! You'll love it, you've got a balcony just like that girl in that Shakespeare play, oh what's she called? Ophelia? No, that's not it... Helena? No... Juliet! That's it! It has a beautiful view of the lake and gardens, oh you'll just adore it I'm sure!" Eleanor says as she pulls me up the stairs, a maid following us with my possessions.

Well, that's a plus. I've always wanted a balcony. Maybe I can throw myself off it if school goes hideously on Monday.

I gulp slightly, Mondays tomorrow. I hope it goes well, I don't think I can take being bullied again.

Maybe I can find some kind of way to camouflage myself... God, I wish I was a chameleon.

**A/N so yeah, any opinions are greatly appreciated. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

"Ivy dear, are you awake?" Eleanor's voice echoes outside my bedroom door, I start debating whether or not I should pretend I caught up with any sleep at all, eventually I decide it would be best to say that I did. White lies and all of that.

I quickly shove the book I had been up all night struggling to read in the limited light, under my pillow and cover my fully clothed self with the dainty floral print duvet so she won't know that I had gotten ready at four in the morning instead of six thirty in order to have more time to worry, but then I realise that she isn't like me and probably can't read someone's entire life story with one glance.

"Yes, I just got dressed." I call, uncovering myself and slipping out of bed where I put my feet into my black ballet flats.

"Alright. Can I come in?" she asks, her voice an octave higher than it had been the day before. Stressed. I could tell. She probably had another argument with what's his name? Harry? Henry.

"Of course." I say as I straighten the duvet. She opens the door and frowns in thought.

"Why are you doing that?" she asks with a puzzled look placed upon her face.

"Uh- its um, my bed? Should I not have-"

"Oh, no dear, don't worry. It's just that the maids usually do that sort of thing."

"The maids, right. I forgot for a second." I say, deadpan.

There's an awkward silence in my room as I gently kick my own ankle to make sure I'm not dreaming about my own version of The Hunger Games where I'm a tribute taken away from my home, my family and placed with a handful of capitol people.

"Well, breakfast is on the table now, it's bacon and eggs, Sally, your social worker, said its your favourite," she smiles at me. "Look at you, so pretty. I wish my school let us wear our own clothes when we got to sixth form." she laughs daintily in a way that reminds me of my duvet cover.

I had noticed quite quickly when I arrived that everything about their life was reserved and quiet. No sudden bursts of laughter, no slightly cluttered rooms, oh? Is that a small stain on your shirt from lunch? Go and change it quickly before people know we're actually human!

Everything was so normal that it was abnormal.

"I'll come down with you now. I might get lost if I'm alone." we both laugh at my pathetic attempt at a joke, well, a joke for her, sarcasm for me.

The smell of fresh bacon and eggs fills my nostrils and makes my stomach churn as we walk into the dining room inhabited by only a dark oak table miles too large for a family of four, and three matching chairs not including the one odd one. Suits me perfectly.

As I sit down, I notice Jim smiling at me and despite being slightly disturbed by his actions that seem most probably flirtatious, I smile back. Because its always good to have at least one person on your side.

"So are you looking forward to school today, Ivy?" Eleanor asks between stuffed mouthfuls of scrambled eggs which she started piling into her mouth the second she sat down.

"Yeah." another white lie slips past my mind.

"You don't need to lie, you know." Jim tells me, grinning.

"Um, okay, I'm a bit nervous but other than that..." I trail off and start pushing slightly overcooked eggs across my plate, no one says anything and all I can think is that mum wouldn't cook them badly but these are terrible, they leave a salty taste in your mouth that tastes like guilt.

The silence starts to become unbearable and all I can taste is more salt, which is when I realise that its not the eggs, it's me. I'm crying.

All I feel is isolated as I sit there, tears dripping into my scrambled eggs. Nobody helped me at all. Not even a quick 'are you okay?'

I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my faded navy and white striped t-shirt that my mum gave me for my fifteenth birthday. _My _mum, the irreplaceable human being who gave birth to me and raised my with the man she loved.

Suddenly I realise that I'm thinking in past-tense, like they're dead, and I start crying again.

"I- sorry. Um, it happens. I-" I stop myself, and still, no one says a thing which makes me think and hope that I'm dreaming but I'm not, everyone's staring at me, even the maid who is standing in the corner of the room waiting to take the plates away.

Pull yourself together Ivy! So I do. I stop crying, I shut myself up and I wipe my soaking eyes with the napkin that was originally put there for wiping the food that you so carelessly managed to spread all over your mouth, instead of my cuff.

"Sorry." I repeat myself with more strength this time and everyone gets back to eating without a single word and for the first time since yesterday I can't wait until I can finally leave for school.

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><p>"It happens. Nerves, we all experience them." Eleanor reassures me after they had all finished their breakfast.<p>

She rests her hand on my back and hugs me gently again, I return the polite gesture but without nearly as much love.

"Now, James will take you to the bus stop. You'd both better hurry otherwise you'll miss it." she looks at Jim who nods his head awkwardly to confirm the fact and also reminds her that he would much prefer being called Jim.

He hands me my rucksack and I nod at him in thanks, not entirely sure that I can speak to any of the Moriarty family at all after what happened.

"Goodbye dears." she hugs us both tightly at that same time and we both smile awkwardly and put up with it.

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><p>As we walk to the bus stop that's apparently hidden somewhere deep in a cute little village very close to my new unhomely home there's an uncomfortable silence all around us both, clinging to us and refusing to let go, reminding me of Eleanor and her squishy hugs which I originally thought I was escaping when we left.<p>

"She always does that." he laughs quietly.

"I can tell." I reply almost at the same pitch as him. I stare at my scuffed school shoes and smile slightly.

"Every single bloody school day she treats me like I'm going to war and she'll never see me again or something."

"You're her excuse though." I say like its the most obvious thing in the entire world.

"What do you mean?" he asks as we finally approach the bus stop and sit down next to each other, he accidentally touches my hand but I quickly pull it away.

"Well," I cough. "Your father, he's harsh, quite horrible to her to be honest, and in a way you're the only thing that stops him." he frowns slightly, but then a grin starts to replace it.

"I knew you were clever," he grins even more at me, a bit like an unnerving Cheshire cat.

"Here's the bus." he points out obviously as a smallish machine comes trundling along the road, then coming to a halt in front of us.

Jim grabs my hand which makes me feel slightly more sick than I did before but I stop myself from shaking him away because even though I told myself I didn't, I wanted the attention and the slight, jittery feeling of comfort, or vomit creeping it's way back into my throat, I'm not sure what it is really.

He drags me up the bus and to the back seat which already has three people about my age sitting on it, two boys, one with dark hair, the other with blond and a girl with a blonde bob.

"Move." Jim says, frowning at the dark haired boy.

"Jim," I say, tugging my hand away from him, slightly shocked at his sudden change of personality. "There are other seats, you know..."

"Sherlock Holmes," Jim hisses, ignoring me. The blond boy wraps an arm around the girl and pulls her closer to him, she seems transfixed by Jim, and not in a good way.

"Get yourself and your boring little friends out of my seat."

"Jim!" he ignores me again.

"As far as I can remember, none of these seats belong to anyone." the girl speaks up bravely.

"That's certainly a very brave thing to say, Mary." he slowly inches closer to her, tilting his head to the side in the way you would do to a child. But she never backs away.

"Jim, now!" I swallow, not wanting to see what would happen next if I didn't intervene.

I grab hold of his arm and drag him away to two different seats that feel cramped and uncomfortable.

"Don't treat me like a dog." he hisses into my ear as we sit down, I shuddered. To me, now, Jim was an entirely different person.

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><p><strong>Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favorited and followed this. :)<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Sherlock's POV**

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><p>"Sherlock!" I look up at John briskly.<p>

"What?" He rolls his eyes and Mary laughs.

"What did you think if that girl on the bus today?" I sigh.

"Thats too easy. Even you could have deduced her john,"

"Humour us," I sigh again, straightening out my newspaper.

"The only thing of interest is that she's a recovering anorexic,"

"Really? How can you tell that?" John asks excitedly. Does he ever stop admiring me? He's obsessed.

"Rubbish! She's just thin," Anderson shouts from the other table that's crowded with science geeks.

"Stop talking Anderson, your stupid might be infectious!" I slam my paper down on the table and put both my feet on up next to it.

The papers boring, schools boring. Life's boring! I need something to do. Stupid Mycroft, why did he make me sign up for sixth form?

"Can I borrow your paper?" John asks. I wave my hand at him, I couldn't care less about the paper. Journalists romanticise things too much. John does the same in his column of the school newspaper. He described the cafeterias food as 'basic yet delicious'. The food has all been bought reduced at the local supermarket and frozen even though it was two days past it's sell by date. They heat this up and make us pay for it, needless to say that I don't touch the stuff.

Ugh, I'm bored.

John flicks through the paper to page fifty one... What's on that page? Oh, the murderers that aren't murderers. The facts don't add up, serial killers usually have a system. But the crimes they've been accused of are random, there's no pattern, it's like they've been framed for some gangs random murders.

"You heard about this Mcclair case? It sounds horrid, how could they do something like that?" John says absently to Mary.

"Some people just don't care. Do you know they had a kid? Apparently she's been bunged up in some foster home,"

"Poor girl... Can you imagine your parents doing something like that?"

"No, not really..." I stand up, letting my chair fall to the ground behind me.

"Sherlock? Sherlock what's wrong?" John asks.

"Bored!"

"Not this again..."

"Bored!"

"Do something then! Be normal! Go to the library!"

"I don't want to read..." Mary stands up, and holds John's hand. Ugh, why do they feel the need to have physical contact all the time?

"Come on, I'm bored to. Why don't we all go to the library?" Mary says rhetorically.

"Great," I groan "a group trip."

I follow them through the hallways, cringing inwardly at their mindless conversation. Why speak for the sake of speaking?

The hallways are bare and cold. Usually they're full at this time of day, unless someone's cleared them for something.

"Hey! Come back here!" A voice shouts from the next corridor. We all fall silent and look at each other. A girl comes running around the corner, her long curly auburn hair sticking to her face. She skids to a halt I front of us, fear shining in her eyes. It's the girl from the bus.

"Please don't hurt me!" She blurts out. John holds his hands up and takes a step back.

"Hey, it's okay we won't hurt you."

"Hey! You!" A boy shouts as he turns the corner. She touches her blackening eye absently with a look of terror on her face, before trying to scurry quickly catches her and puts his hands on her shoulders.

"Who did this to you?" I scoff. Who does he think? It's clearly the work of Jim's gang.

I look at the girls terrified face and frown. I can't sympathise with people on many things, but I can with bullying. This girl has at least five bruises on her face now, and ten scratches. I suspect there's more bruising on her stomach to.

The boy walks up to us, judging by his bitten, yellowed fingernails he has a bad home life and has been smoking for at least a year.

"You can't hide girl. Come back," She shakes her head as she cries silently.

"Look, just leave her alone, alright?" John says, turning to face him

"Can't you see what it's doing to her?" the boy nods.

"That's kind of the reaction we were hoping for," Mary takes the girl into her arms and lets her cry into her shoulder. I clench my fist and push John out of the way so I'm in front of the boy.

"You trying to scare me?" he asks as I look down at him.

"Go on, back to your owner," I spit. He punches my cheek and laughs as I hold it. In an instant I have him up against the wall with one arm twisted behind his back.

"Ow! What are you doing? You're crazy!" I wrench his arm harder, making him wince in pain.

"Now listen to me very carefully, you are not going to do this to her again, ever. Or I will come and do a lot worse than this to you all," the boy starts crying and nods. I wrench his arm even harder, I want him to feel the pain she does.

"Sherlock, let him go." John pleads. I shake my head. John keeps asking, but I stay here. I don't know why, but I have to. I have to make this boy suffer. The girl walks over to me and places her small hands on my lower arm.

"Sherlock... Let him go. He isn't worth our time anymore," she whispers. My arm shakes slightly in strain. "Please," I let the boy go with a sigh. He takes one last fearful glance back towards me and then runs off down the hallway.

The girl stands on her tiptoes and kisses my bruising cheek. "Th-Thank you," she whispers, her chin quivering as she cries.

"Come on," Mary says, putting a hand on her shoulder "Let's get you cleaned up," They walk away to the girls bathroom, leaving me stood here holding my cheek which is tingling in a mixture of pain and... I don't know what, but it feels strange.


	4. Chapter 4

"You really don't have to do this you know, I can see to myself..." Mary looks at me, frowns a little bit and shakes her head, her short blonde hair whipping her face gently as she did so.

"Nope." she says, disappearing into an empty bathroom cubicle and emerging with a roll of loo paper in her hand. She looks at me and tears a couple of pieces off, dipping them under the hot tap for a moment and smiling sadly at me.

I nod slightly as the cool water droplets slide down my face.

"He seems very... Intense. Sherlock, that is."I say, she laughs heartily as she starts tackling one of the scratches on my arm.

"He's incredibly intense, when he wants to be that is. Sometimes he just zones out completely. I kind of envy him for that, I can never just go off into my own little world." I laugh even though my face is burning up like hell.

"Wow, really?" Mary looks at me and smiles sadly again, it reminds me of the way my mum used to stare when my eating habits started to quickly disappear.

Not like I was a freak, but like she was worried for me, genuinely scared.

"Anyway," Mary says, handing me some more loo roll. "I'm not very good at chatting. Um, well, have you heard about the Mcclair case, it's been everywhere." she says, her face straight and slightly concerned as I think mine twists into a ball of pain. "Oh, are you okay? Bruises are the worst." I nod my head.

"Did you know that they have a daughter?" She asks as she crosses the room to throw the old loo roll away "I heard she's been dumped in care, poor girl. Can you imagine your parents doing that?" I shake my head whilst clenching my fist so tightly that it hurts.

"So, what are your parents like?"

"Innocent," I murmur quietly.

"Hmm?"

"They're... Erm, different."

"Different? In what way?" she continues pushing me, even though I know she doesn't mean it.

"They're just different, it's kind of hard to explain." I say irritably. She cocks her head to one side in confusion.

"You alright?" I nod falsely.

"Just peachy," I stand up and throw the sodden loo roll in the bin. "I should err... Take off. I need to, do that thing I've been meaning to do." I say distantly.

She stands up and frowns slightly. "Are you crying?" I wipe the underside of my eye.

"Oh, yeah... That happens sometimes." she opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the final bell.

"Who've you got for your next class?" she asks.

"Maths, with Mrs. Jamison I think..." I don think, I know. I memorised my timetable at four this morning. Her face saddens slightly.

"I've got geography... Still! That's only next door! And I think John and Sherlock are in your class, I'll walk you over with them if you like. So you doing get lost or anything," I nod and force a smile onto my face as we walk out arm in arm. My false smile is replaced with a real one as it hits me- I have a friend.

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><p>My head rolls against the window of the bus on the way home as I try to ignore Jim's stupid nattering.<p>

"So," he says, looking me in the eye. "You're friends with Sherlock and co, eh?" he asks, originally I ignore him, but he just keeps staring with those deep eyes, trying to make me break. I think about how much pain I still feel for earlier and congratulate myself for getting beaten up, but I suppose I'm used to it.

"Who hurt you, Ivy?" he says venomously.

"Oh, no one. I'm just really uncoordinated, that's all." I say quietly, dragging my hand through my tangled curly mop of hair that had gone frizzy from the usual soggy British weather. God, it was nearing summer, but no! Rain, rain, rain with the occasional snow shower and wind. Lots of wind.

"That's a shame. You'd better tell mum. She might think you got beaten up." he says with a well disguised sly slur.

I shake my head and stare out of the window.

My phone starts mooing in my bag. Jim raises an eyebrow at me.

"It's better than the beejee's..." I mutter. He laughs coldly and I unlock my phone.

'Why are you sitting with him? -SH' I roll my eyes. I knew he was looking when I gave Mary my number.

"Who is it?" he asks.

"No one." Sherlock turns his head round and smirks at me. When I got on the bus five minutes ago, I saw Jim sitting on the back row. Why does he like to sit there? It smells of BO and stale popcorn...

John and Mary we're sat a few rows ahead, with Sherlock lay on the seats behind them. When I passed them, they tried to get me to sit next to Sherlock, which he didn't seem to mind actually. I thought he'd be all hostile, but he just scooted over. I was about to sit down when Jim pulled me back to sit with him.

'Come and sit with us -SH'

I bite my lip, keeping a tight grip my phone as I reply.

'Fine. I'll try to come over. X Ivy.'

"Jim..." I say eventually. My heart was beating in my throat and the reason for that had eacaped me a long time ago.

Travel sickness, nerves, paranoia or maybe it was just my stomach dreading the next meal. He mumbles a reply that reaembles a yes.

"I'm going to sit with Sherlock." I say. He stares at me and my nausea increases.

He eventually shrugs and goes back to his phone.

"Fine, see if I care."

I quickly stand up and dash over to Sherlock, sitting down quickly.

"Hey guys," I mumble.

"You won't get much out of them." Sherlock says gesturing towards John and Mary. I face forward to see them snogging with a frightful passion.

"That's... Different..." I tilt my head to the side and watch. Wait... Am I really watching? I quickly avert my eyes to Sherlock, who's shamelessly watching them.

"How long have they been doing that?" I ask.

"Four minutes and twenty three seconds." he replies without blinking.

"Wow." I as sitting back and folding my arms "I don't think I could hold my breath for that long," He looks at me seriously.

"We could try if you like," I freeze. Is he really suggesting that we... Kiss? I start itching the back of my head, I don't want to be rude. But at the same time, I don't want to kiss him. I mean, it's not that I don't want to kiss him, it's that I just generally don't want to kiss. I don't like doing things I don't know how to do. But I suppose I could always learn now. After all, he isn't bad looking.

Wait, am I really considering this? Well, maybe a little.

"I... Er... Don't know how to..." I whisper. His face heats up slightly in realisation.

"I mean hold our breath, not..." I sigh in relief. "But we could if you wanted to..." I laugh loudly.

"You don't mean that. It's fine, really... So shall we?"

"Kiss?" I smile slightly.

"No... Hold our breath," his face brightens.

"Sure, let me get out my stopwatch..."

I absentmindedly glance behind me to see Jim sulking in the back all alone now, his legs pulled up so his chin was propped om his knees.

When I turn back to Sherlock who now has his iphone out, lucky bugger. I try to smile at him awkwardly then look at John and Mary again who I don't think have stopped and it must have been at least another thirty seconds.

Sherlock starts the stop watch and we both hold our breath, I stare at him, trying not to laugh, then suddenly I feel like I'm being suffocated, I stop struggling to fend off a grin.

I'm drowning, it's almost like I can't open my mouth again, but eventually I do and it's only been two minutes.

Sherlock stops, presses a button on his iphone and the stopwatch disappears and I'm safe again.


	5. Chapter 5

I pant and start laughing mindlessly.

The whole bus is spinning around me.

That... Was brilliant.

Sherlock frowns at me.

"Why are you laughing?" I hold my sides as they start to ache.

"Because... I feel like it," I gasp.

**Sherlock's POV**

I smile and start to laugh with her. This is strange, shouldn't people laugh at funny things?

She doubles over and looks up at me, she's smiling like a maniac.

She's an adrenalin junkie, the scary experience made her feel alive after the initial panic. Maybe this is because she's trying to forget something.

She sits up straight and tries not to laugh, but then erupts into a fit of tiny... What does John call them? Giggles.

My laughter suddenly becomes louder. Why am I laughing? Either way, I like it. She takes a deep breath in and sighs, her laughter disappearing. Mine dies down too, and we sit in silence, looking at our feet.

She has size seven and a half feet. She must have strong arches, because the soles are evenly worn on either side.

John and Mary finally separate, and look back at us, panting slightly.

"Oh, hey Ivy. When did you come over?" John asks. Ivy and I slowly look at each other, then back to John and Mary, then back to each other and start laughing again.

"What are you..." John starts. I gasp for breath and wipe my watering eyes. The bus pulls to a stop, and Ivy suddenly freezes. Her face becomes terrified. Jim marches over and pulls her up by the strap of her backpack. Suddenly I find myself on my feet.

"Let her go, James." His face screws up slightly at the use of his name.

"I don't think I will," I clench my fists and take a step forward.

"No... It's okay Sherlock. I'll see you guys tomorrow..." Ivy whispers urgently. I nod and sit back down, clenching my jaw.

"Bye guys..." A tear slides down her face as he pulls her towards the staircase. She looks up at us for a second before she disappears, her sadness sending me cold.

"Poor girl..." John mutters.

"Do you think we can do anything?"

"We can try." I say, watching him pull her off the bus from out of the window. "We can try..."

* * *

><p><strong>Ivy's POV<strong>

"Ivy dear... What happened to your face?" Eleanor asks. I flinch as her cold hand comes into contact with my face.

I smile falsely and laugh "I just fell over at school, I'm really un-coordinated." I see Jim grin in my peripheral vision. Why should I lie for him? No, I should tell the truth. I look into Eleanor's brown eyes and sigh inwardly. I can't do this to her, she idolises him. Plus she has enough of a tough time with Henry. I don't know why I want to spare peoples feelings, they don't do the same for me.

"Oh you poor thing! I was the same when I was your age but then I found dance and- oh! Maybe that would help you too! My friend owns a dance studio, maybe she can squeeze you in. James? Would you like to-"

"Don't get me involved." He says, I can hear the smirk in his voice.

I bite my lip gently and look at her, too afraid to say no and hurt her feelings. I look to Jim who is grinning smugly at me so I shoot him a glare.

"Oh, please say yes dear, you can try one and-and if you don't like it then you can quit." I sigh slightly, but then I realise that if Jim wasn't going then it would mean an hour or two without him around.

"Okay," I say quietly. "I'll go."

She claps her hands and laughs excitedly- Wait... People actually do that?

"Oh that's brilliant dear! I'll go and phone Belle now!" she shouts as she runs into the hall.

"Have fun dancing!" Jim laughs as I walk out of the room and up the stairs. I don't feel like being around Jim, he's just as annoying as Anderson in Chemistry. I close my door and go out onto my balcony.

The view is nice, but it's hard to appreciate it when you're down. Which in my case is all the time.

I place both my elbows on the white stone wall, letting the wind blow through my hair. How can I get out of this dancing? I could pretend to break my ankle? No, that wouldn't work with X-rays... Suddenly my phone starts ringing in my pocket. I slide it out absently and press accept.

"Hello?" I answer dreamily without looking.

"Ummm... Hello?"

I frown, snapping out of my trance.

"Sherlock, is that you?" I ask gripping onto the wall with one hand.

"Umm, yes? Sorry, is it bad that I'm calling? John said something about manners, and calling to see if you were okay. I wanted to text, and Mary hit me and said I shouldn't be so rude so I ended up calling you. I can pass you onto one of them if you like- Oh wait.. Sorry, apparently that's rude too. Ow! Stop hitting me! What? Oh! Okay, I'll ask her now. How are you? Are you okay?"

I laugh slightly, turning around and pushing myself up so I'm sitting on the wall and facing the door to my bedroom.

"Yeah, I'm okay I guess. Contemplating throwing myself off my balcony so I can get out of dance lessons that I have been forced to take-" I ramble on and then stop myself. "But that doesn't matter. I'm fine, um, are you?"

"I wouldn't recommend throwing yourself off the balcony, it's not the quickest way to go, and plus there's always the slim chance of survival. I would personally choose poison, there's not much chance of revival with that. You aren't fine, you're clearly upset over dance lessons. And there's something else, something I'm missing... What's the connection between you and Jim? Oh, apparently that's insensitive. Why is that insensitive?... Apparently I need to apologize... Sorry... Anyway, why are you lying to me?"

I swing one leg around so it's dangling in mid air. I sit there, quietly, thinking of what to say first.

"You're clever, you are," is all that comes to mind at first. "Anyway," I say, mimicking him. "I'd personally prefer the slim chance of survival, irritation and stuff-" I stop talking but carry on. "But if poison is what you'd go for, I won't stop you. Besides, I only want to break a few bones, damage myself enough to never be able to dance- am I being too sadistic?"

"No, not at all. Please continue I'm fascinated. After all, if you don't want to dance, why don't you just break a leg another way instead of throwing yourself off the balcony? You intrigue me, Ivy. Not many people do that."

I shrug, forgetting he can't see me. Then I allow a bit of colour to flood to my cheeks. I never intrigued anyone.

"Well, I'm dangling one leg off the balcony at the minute, it's about seventeen foot off the ground so it couldn't really kill me, course. But it would probably do me a bit of permanent damage due to the concrete slabs of the floor below. I'm quite brain-dead at the minute so I'm feeling slow and I can't think of another way besides sneaking away before it starts which will probably be impossible due to um, mum... being there but- oh god, I'm, never mind. I've been reading too many crime books... are you still on the bus?" I ask, desperate to change the subject without him noticing.

"Is it really worth risking your life for the sake of not dancing? Why don't you just try the dancing instead? If you don't like it, I can lend you some poison. And There's no such thing as reading too many books, regardless of the genre. We're twenty seconds away from our stop. Then we're going to the library so I can do homework and read while they... Do what they did earlier on the bus. I've deduced you wouldn't be very good at that, because you can't hold your breath for long enough. Perhaps that's because you're too nervous to let go- oh... Sorry, apparently I'm being rude again."

I swing the other leg around so they are both swinging around next to each other. "Yeah, you're right, I'd better not jump, it'd just make things worse for myself."

"Probably. I have to go, you can't have phones in the library, which is an annoying and pointless rule because people will break it anyway and-What?... Why would she want to do that?... Okay, I'll ask her. Mary wants to know if you'd like to join us, I don't know why you'd want to since your contemplating suicide but apparently I should ask."

I stare back into my bedroom over my shoulder and look at my bag full of books that I hadn't emptied yet. I'd read quite a lot of them when I was in care just to waste time, so my constant supply was slowly lessening.

"I suppose I could, but I don't know where it is." I say, running my hand through my hair.

"Its the last stop on the 28 bus, you can't miss it."

"Okay," I say, grinning awkwardly. "I'll try my best. Bye."

I wait to hear him say bye for a while before I realise the lines dead. Mary will probably hit him again for not saying goodbye.


End file.
